<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111128/637218549c7e80680e0baa37jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="664" height="450"/><figcaption></figcaption></figure>The crisis that is consuming Sri Lanka has sent warning bells ringing in Nepal. While sensational media headlines, some of them in the Indian press, have drawn too close a comparison between the two countries, there are parallels.Nepal does not have the kind of debt burden that has forced Sri Lanka to default on its loans. Ironically, it is Nepal’s underdevelopment that cushions it from global upheavals. Politics may be in disarray here too, but at least we do not have an executive president, a prime minister and three other brothers who are ministers in government.Nepal’s disease may not be as severe as Sri Lanka, but <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/A-tale-of-Nepal-and-Sri-Lanka,1086" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the symptoms are the same</a>.For decades, Sri Lanka was the development model that the rest of South Asia strived to emulate. Its 95% literacy, equitable health care, a proficient bureaucracy were the envy of the developing world.But even a well-educated public and effective social security system stand no chance against bad leadership, and can wreck a once-vibrant democracy. The rot in Sri Lanka started as far back as 1956, with ultra-nationalist leaders building vote banks with exclusionary ethnic politics.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/asias-new-cold-war/">Asia’s new Cold War</a>, Dhirendra NalboThe grievances of the minority community piled up, erupting in the anti-Tamil pogroms of 1983, and the inevitable slide to conflict. At one point in the late 1990s, a country half the size of Nepal and with two-thirds of its population had two <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=9345#.YoMV3RRBxpQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">civil wars raging</a> at the same time: the ethno-separatist conflict in the north, and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=507#.YoMUpxRBxpQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the ultra-Marxist JVP</a> uprising in the south.The JVP insurgency was crushed, but by the time <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15978#.YoMV8xRBxpQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the Tamil war</a> came to a violent end in 2009 nearly 100,000 Sri Lankans had been killed. In comparison, Nepal’s Maoists insurgency lasted a decade and left 17,000 dead.The precursors of Sri Lanka’s current crisis lie in post-war politics and the rise and fall, and rise again, of the Rajapaksa family, its greed, ambition and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Here-We-Go/here-we-go-silenced-by-state-sri-lanka,182" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">drift towards authoritarianism</a>. Sri Lanka’s thriving tourist industry was destroyed in the deadly Easter bombings in 2019, and the pandemic wiped out what remained. Exports and remittances from its workers abroad slumped.In addition, the Mahinda Rajapaksa in his previous stint had borrowed extravagantly from China for grandiose infrastructure projects, and the Chinese were demanding their pound of flesh.Another Rajapaksa brother as agriculture minister decreed overnight that Sri Lanka would go organic, and banned the import of agro-chemicals. Tea export and food production fell.The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/ukraine-crisis-hits-nepal-economy-hard/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Ukraine crisis</a> could not have hit at a worse time. Fuel prices doubled in a space of weeks, and Sri Lanka had no foreign exchange reserve to pay for imports. Faced with a 40% inflation rate, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-geopolitics-of-food/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">a crippling shortage of food</a>, cooking gas and fuel, peaceful protesters were camped out in central Colombo.Then, on 9 May the Rajapaksa brothers sent hired goons to drive out demonstrators from Colombo’s seafront promenade. The police stood by, and visuals of violence went viral on social media. Nine people were killed and scores injured as protests spread nationwide.Prime Minister Mahinda Rajapaksa stepped down, and his much-reviled brother President Gotabaya Rajapaksa swore in Ranil Wickremasinghe as prime minister for the sixth time, beating a record set by our own Sher Bahadur Deuba.This could be too little too late. As long as the Rajapaksas cling to power, Sri Lankans fear that the nepotism, corruption, and mismanagement will continue.The coming weeks are critical for Prime Minister Wickremasinghe, and he himself admits that things will “get worse before they get better”.Sri Lanka is an object lesson for us in Nepal about how <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/clean-up-elections-to-clean-up-politics/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">short-sighted leaders</a>, populism, and lack of accountability of elected despots and their dynasties can completely ruin a country that was once so full of promise.Crises like these do not just happen overnight, they are the result of decades of mal-governance by leaders who neglect the needs of citizens. Democracy is supposed to fix that, but this is what happens when leaders hijack the democratic process itself.Nepal has a unique opportunity during <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/turning-a-new-leaf-in-2079/">this election year</a> to find leaders that can take the country forward. That so many independent candidates have won <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-local-election-gives-power-back-to-people/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">local elections</a> this week should be a wake-up call for Nepal’s politicians to mend their ways or be swept away by public anger.

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How not to be a Sri Lanka

<figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110161132/636d19959c7e80680e0ac828jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>This short book, Political Economy of Social Change and Development in Nepal, by Jeevan Sharma, a senior lecturer on South Asia and international development at the University of Edinburgh, packs a punch. Drawing on his own original field research and the ideas of Karl Polanyi on The Great Transformation (1944) as well as secondary literature, Sharma has produced a holistic overview and analysis of the economic, social and political transformation that Nepal has experienced over recent decades. `His work challenges many of the prevailing characterisations and explanations of that process, and identify some of the contradictions that underlie the more visible fault lines that others like Ram Sharan Mahat and Baburam Bhattarai also have identified. In his Introduction Sharma writes that ‘change, transformation and development have been recurrent themes, not only in everyday conversations, political rhetoric and social movements, but also in Nepali public culture and literary writings since the 1950s’. He then reviews both the main features of the changes that have taken place since the 1950s and also some of the different theoretical and empirical studies that have addressed those changes. Sharma warns against the uncritical adoption of Polanyi’s framework for ‘the Global South’, but argues that a more complex model, involving ‘a three-sided constellation of conflict among proponents of marketisation, adherents of social protection and partisans of emancipation’, would make it possible to connect ‘politics, society and economy’. He does not consider in any detail alternative approaches to the ‘political economy’ of social change and development in Nepal (eg the ‘neo-liberal’ and the Marxist) although he sees the ten-year <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/02/16/making-war-on-the-day-of-love/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Maoist insurgency</a> (1996-2006) as part of a broader movement for social justice, rights and citizenship that he argues has been developing ‘since the 1950s’. The book has four main chapters, each considering an axis of change. Chapter 2 ‘From Subjects to Citizens’ considers Nepal’s political ‘transition’ focuses particularly on the period since the 1950s. The first half of the chapter charts the uneven process the transition from subjects to citizens at the national level, the second half examines local perceptions of the dynamics of social change with particular reference to changes in caste, gender and local power relations and to the role of the Maoist insurgency in bringing about these changes. This section draws on Sharma’s own fieldwork in western Nepal. Chapter 3 ‘Peasantry, Mobility and the Changing Face of Rural Nepal’ looks briefly at the economic and social history of the peasantry in Nepal and ‘changing rural society’, exploring the diversification of rural livelihoods, the weakening of ‘caste-based feudal relations’ and the commodification of labour. This leads on to a consideration of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepali-migration-in-the-2020s/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">migration</a>, which he rightly sees as having a long history from the mid-18th century onwards. Somewhat controversially, Sharma identifies three to five ‘waves’ of migration, the last of which became more widespread after the 1990s and ‘has come to shape the nature of the remittance-based national economy of Nepal’ – leaving many Nepalis in low-paid, highly exploitative and precarious employment. I would have preferred to see migration as characterised by different ‘forms’ or ‘regimes’, often contemporaneous rather than sequential. And despite the undoubted importance of remittances in contemporary Nepal would contest the notion that Nepal’s economy is ‘remittance-based’. There are many different strands in Nepal’s complex integration in the wider regional and global economy, including not only the export of labour, but also of other resources as commodities, and the importation of commodities from other countries, foreign direct investment, loans and ‘<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19592#.YXet2E1BzOQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">foreign aid</a>’. It is also debatable, as the climate crisis deepens in this most vulnerable of countries, whether paid employment away from home is necessarily more precarious than livelihoods based on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/aid-rarely-aids-agriculture-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">agriculture</a> and embedded in a local economy and society often characterised by hierarchy and inequality.   Chapter 4 ‘Mobility and Educational and Occupational Futures’ focuses on the experiences of young men from rural Nepal as they struggle to overcome the challenges of mobility and find secure, and salaried employment. It draws heavily on Sharma’s fieldwork in Palpa and explores ‘social meanings and patterns of mobility’, looking at the links between education and employment in particular, but also considering the significance of caste and ethnic identities in determining outcomes. This chapter is particularly rich in ethnographic terms, and complements Sharma’s earlier work on ‘youth, migration and masculinities in Nepal’. It would be good if some anthropologist were to undertake a similar investigation into the education and subsequent livelihoods of girls and women. Chapter 5 ‘Development and Patronage Politics’, while referring to programs undertaken during the early 20th century ‘that would fall under what is broadly regarded as development’, Sharma sees 1950 as ‘a critical moment in Nepal’s development history’. He examines briefly what he calls the ‘initial rush for development’ in the 1950s and then the program of ‘nation-building through Bikas’ under the Panchayat System dominated by King Mahendra. This is followed by a review of the period after the first Jana Andolan from 1990 to 1996 (‘democratisation for development’) and of the Maoist insurgency (‘conflict and development’) from 1996-2006. Sharma considers the Maoists’ theory, strategy and practical contribution to economic, social and political change. While recognising that ‘development was at the core of Maoist ideology and strategy’ and acknowledging their positive influence in certain areas – notably addressing inequality and social discrimination – he seems largely unimpressed by their actual achievements and has a number of negative things to say about their practice. Somewhat surprisingly, he does not refer in any detail to their theoretical and political analysis of development and underdevelopment, despite several of the Maoist leadership publishing them widely. He notes, however, that the Maoist insurgency prompted various development agencies to reconsider their own strategy for addressing ‘<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/end-of-war-is-not-peace/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">structural violence</a> and discrimination’ – resulting in the establishment of a new consensus on the priority on gender, caste and ethnicity through the lens of  inclusion and empowerment. This effectively downgraded the concerns of economic (class) inequality, and poverty, which had hitherto been a main concern of both the World Bank and the UK Department for International Development (DfID). He also remarks that the conflict itself had the effect of accelerating the process of migration, both temporary and permanent, from the rural areas to the towns and abroad, thereby contributing to the transformation of both rural and urban economy and society. ‘The Maoist insurgency coincided with a major economic change in Nepal, that is, the commodification of land and labour as never before, with the deepening of the market in the citizens’ everyday lives,’ he writes. This process continued in the next period, following <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/revisiting-maoist-demands,2860" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Jana Andolan II</a> and the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12806#.YXetRU1BzOR" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Comprehensive Peace Agreement</a> (CPA) of 2006, as the Maoists re-entered the mainstream of Nepali politics and contributed to the peace process and state re-structuring. This led to the establishment of an interim government, the abolition of the monarchy, and the election of a Constituent Assembly charged with the task of drawing up a new constitution, for a secular, federal republic. The excitement of the early years of this period (2006-2008) was followed by seven years of political wrangling and lack of direction until, eventually, shortly after the April-May 2015 earthquake, a new Constitution was finally promulgated in September. This was marked by controversy, and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/few-jobs-created-by-nepal-employment-drive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">failed to advance</a> any of the promising elements of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/justice-in-transition/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">CPA</a>, including Article 3.13. which envisaged ‘a policy of massive increase in employment and income generation opportunities by increasing investment in industries, trade and export promotion’. Sharma argues that ‘sluggish economic growth and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/missing-the-plot-in-nepals-job-scheme/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">lack of jobs</a> have created economic precarity’, and that while demands for greater rights for various social minorities have tended to take centre stage, there has been little or no appetite on the part of government or opposition, development agencies or civil society, for economic justice.  Sharma argues that ‘beyond the immediate impact on the economy and lives and livelihoods, the earthquake had a seismic impact on Nepal’s long political transition’.  I would disagree. Although it resulted in the ‘fast-tracking of the Constitution-writing process’, the earthquake failed to promote a new sense of common endeavour or urgency, even as regards physical reconstruction after the earthquake. The interventions of the foreign agencies in its aftermath were un-coordinated and subject to widespread criticism. Controversies over aspects of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepals-contentious-constitution-day/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Constitution</a> and the very different responses to it from China and India, provided fuel for a ‘new Nepali nationalism’, as Sharma suggests – even if this nationalism proved divisive rather than integrative. This period was marked on the one hand by a national debate over the precise form the promised new ‘federal’ structure would take, and efforts to delineate the contours of a new, more decentralised polity, while on the other hand, political discourse and practice continued to be characterised by the dominance of elite politics at all levels, national, regional and local, and by the pervasive and malign phenomenon of corruption and patronage. Sharma ends this chapter by remarking that ‘the politics of the distribution of development has been realised in practice by distributional coalitions’. In other words, development in Nepal is not the broad-based, inclusive form of positive economic, social and political transformation that the term often implies, but rather a narrowly conceived and implemented, and fragmented, ‘sharing of the spoils’. The book ends with a consideration of ‘Precarity and Paradox in Once-Remote Locations’, on the contradictions of globalisation for a social formation on the periphery of the global political economy that retains many of the characteristics of pre-capitalism. It also looks into the nature of life on the periphery – which involves integration in the global political economy but creates ‘precarious livelihoods’. Sharma is concerned that Nepal’s integration into the wider world has so far failed to generate the appropriate ‘counter-movement’ to safeguard and protect the lives and livelihoods of the majority of ordinary Nepalis, even if it has <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-great-income-divide/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">apparently reduced poverty</a>, allowed the emergence of a middle class, and enabled <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-richest-man-in-the-pandora-papers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">a minority to accumulate considerable wealth</a>. Nepal’s continuing and arguably increasing reliance on foreign labour migration is both a cause and a consequence of the failure to generate decent, reasonably secure employment and economic opportunities within the country. It is a failure of both the public and the private sector, but it is also a consequence of the lack of an enduring movement for economic, social and political reform (or revolution) to bring about a ‘great transformation’ in Nepal. David Seddon is a former Professor of Development Studies at the University of East Anglia and now independent researcher and writer.Political Economy of Social Change and Development in NepalJeevan R. SharmaBloomsbury Academic India, 2021215 pp.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110161132/636d19989c7e80680e0ac829jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="180" height="291">

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Nepal’s elusive ‘Great Transformation’

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

Sacred seed feeds boom

Dimar Chaudhary was born and raised in Old Padampur, the village inside what is now Chitwan National Park before it was dsignated a protected area. His Tharu community, as well as other indigenous groups, traditionally relied on Chitwan’s jungles and rivers for generations. Chaudhary himself had grown up collecting medicinal plants and wild vegetables, gathering wood, and grazing cattle in the forest. Chitwan, along with much of Nepal’s Tarai, was plagued by malaria until a US-supported DDT spraying campaign to wipe out the disease in the district in the 1950s. This opened the valley up to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. Before that, Chitwan was inhabited entirely by indigenous people: 90% of the district’s population was Tharu, and the rest were Bote, Mushar, Darai and Majhi communities. In 1973 Chitwan National Park became Nepal's first protected area and in 1996, the Nepal government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management. Old Padampur was subsequently relocated outside the park. Ntional parks formed buffer zone user committees (BZUCs) to manage and oversee community forests. Hundreds of thousands of local people were directly involved in managing buffer zone community forests across the country. Over three decades, these forests have not only made conservation collaborative, but also helped to mitigate wildlife-related crimes and human wildlife conflict. In 2014, 2015 and 2016, Nepal achieved zero poaching for its three flagship species: rhinos, tigers and elephants. But while these user communities have made wildlife conservation participatory, the process hasn’t been inclusive of Nepal’s indigenous and underserved communities. In 2022, WWF supported Community Conservation Nepal to collect data on natural resources used by Tharu indigenous people before the establishment of Chitwan National Park. The project also looked into the inclusion of indigenous, women, Dalit and disabled communities in the Baghauda, Paachpandav, Meghauli, Mrigakunja, and Amaltari Buffer Zone User Committees (BZUC) as well as the Someshwor, Gardi Chure, Radha Krishna, and Baghmara Buffer Zone Community Forests (BZCF).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977" data-rendition-name="original" width="1342" height="941" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC map"></figure>  BARRIERS TO INCLUSION The survey found that women are underrepresented in all the BZUCs despite women user groups being larger. Nepal’s Buffer Zone laws dictate that each BZUC has 13 members. Each BZUC is made up of nine units, and as many representatives are elected from those units. The elected members have the authority to choose the remaining four members. This meant that indigenous peoples, marginalised groups, and women have a far lower chance of being elected. Indeed, out of the total members, Paachpandav and Mrigakunja BCUZs had four women, Meghauli had three women, and Baghauda had only one woman, whereas Amaltari user committee had no woman member. In contrast, the BZCF are relatively more inclusive of women, with two out of four surveyed BZCF comprising half women members. Additionally, some grassroots user committees are made up entirely of women. Most women members of the user committees are not appointed through elections, but chosen by elected male members, and are not given positions of leadership. “Women have been the ones protecting the forests ever since the concept of forest conservation initially emerged,” one female participant told us during a focus group discussion. People would get angry when the women stopped them from cutting down trees and grass, and grazing cattle in the jungles, she recalled, adding, “We were dedicated to the user committees. However, we are no longer involved in the committees, nor are we invited to meetings.” When asked about the absence of women in the user committees, one BZUC chairperson responded, “There are only men here because they won the election. Women are unwilling to run for the election. How will they fit into the committee if no woman has ever run for election?” However, not only are women deprived of the chance to contest elections, the chances of them winning polls are also very low because a majority of the positions in the committee will already have been allocated by political parties to their male cadres. Women from marginalised communities face further hurdles.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="508" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC "></figure>  “No male member from the Musahar community has been elected in the user community, if they had, they could have suggested that women from our community be included in the committee as well,” said a female participant from the Musahar community. While the native Musahar and Bote people lack representation in the BZUC, indigenous people did make up the majority of the members in the committees, while Dalit members were included in some collectives. However, only one committee is led by an indigenous person. The others are chaired by upper-caste hill migrants. In addition, no committee had any representative with disabilities. One of the key reasons for the under-representation of marginalised communities in Nepal’s BZUC is its non-inclusive policy. When Nepal’s Constitution was promulgated in 2015, residents living in proximity to protected areas across Nepal had hoped that policies relating to buffer zones and their governance would be reformed to reflect Nepal’s new socio-political reality. But this has not been the case. However, this has not discouraged indigenous Nepalis, who have continued to demand buffer zone policy reforms that ensure the inclusion of women, indigenous and marginalised communities. In addition to policy revision, it is necessary to reform the buffer zone election so that it is more participatory for underserved communities. Reforms should also regulate the number of members in a user group. Similarly, the budget allocated for buffer zones must be used on activities that benefit conservation instead of local infrastructure development. Women, people with disabilities, indigenous and marginalised communities should be the primary beneficiaries of budget dispensation. Crop damage compensation, which currently is Rs10,000, can be increased by five times to Rs50,000. Policy revisions should ultimately guarantee the rights of indigenous communities like the Sonaha, Bote and Musahar to practice their culture and traditional livelihoods and receive a formal education. Buffer Zone User Committees must apply indigenous conservation practices for park management. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.

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My father’s son

Sacred seed feeds boom

Parks by the people and for the people